


This is a Bad Town (For Such a Pretty Face)

by Elisif



Series: The Angband Generosity Series [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Pet Play, Photography, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shaving Kink, forced stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 06:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18219281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisif/pseuds/Elisif
Summary: Sauron wants to send Maedhros' brothers an update. Shameless PWP of the "maedhros having an awful time" variety.





	This is a Bad Town (For Such a Pretty Face)

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me why modern photography exists in the First Age in this. The only answer is because smut reasons.

Sauron came for him just as the orcs were towelling his head dry from its most recent shave. For once, they had allowed Maedhros to wear a pair of ragged breeches; it was something, though it did not lessen the humiliation as Sauron placed a collar and leash around his neck and led him to some unknown location in the fortress like a dog.

Sauron pulled the door shut. The lights came on, and as Maedhros blinked in the unfamiliar brightness, he immediately recognised the room as some sort of photography studio, something he had not seen since Valinor. There was a white backdrop canvas, full length mirrors, lighting fixtures, carpet on the floor reflective umbrellas and several camera mounted on tripods which were being adjusted by a maia he did not recognise.

The Lieutenant was wearing a truly gleeful expression on its face when it turned to him and removed the leash and collar from his neck, stepped back. Maedhros dared not step further into the room and the light; his toes longingly touched the alien surface of the edge of the carpet, but he did not move.

When he looked up, Sauron was still grinning.

“I realised I haven’t sent your brothers an update in a while,” it said. “I thought, wouldn’t it be nice if we sent them a few pictures of what you look like now, the changes we’ve made to you.”

Maedhros gulped, guessing what was coming. The Maia smirked.

“Breeches. Off,” it said.

He swallowed hard, and with shaking fingers, undid the ties and slipped the threadbare breeches down his legs, stepped away from them, revealing his body, kept as meticulously hairless as his head according to the maia’s instructions. It smirked.

He shivered with his arms wrapped around his chest as the maia retrieved a box from the other side of the room, returned with a makeup brush in hand.

“Hold still,” it said.

Swiftly, it painted his face; daubed a myriad of powders over his forehead and cheeks, licked its thumb and rubbed cover-up over the thin scars tracing his jawline. With soft little flourishes, it mascaraed his long eyelashes, the only hair the orcs had left on him; finally, it dipped its fingers in a glass jar of scented oil, and traced them along the pointed tips of his ears, which it then painfully forced golden studs into.

Then it reached down and gleefully daubed the padded rouge brush between his legs, and Maedhros leapt back in shock.

“Stop!’ he screamed, leaping back against the wall and holding his hands out in front of him in defense.

Brush and compact in hand, the maia simply stared at him with a look of wearied disappointment from where it stood, and brushed its long blonde hair from its eyes.

“Tsk tsk” it simply said. “I thought we had trained you out of such childish overreactions at this point. For shame, Maitimo. For shame. _Come here._ ”

Not daring to further antagonise the Maia, he lowered his arms and stepped forwards. He squeezed his eyes shut as the maia pinched him, rolled back the skin of his tip and dabbed the brush over his slit.

“Face the mirror,” it said, leaving him to turn a mechanical handle on the wall which lowered a set of chains over Maedhros’ head. Promptly, his wrists were fixed to them and by some hidden mechanism, his arms were pulled apart into a taut crucifix.

The maia manning the camera began to shoot. As Maedhros blinked against the painfully bright flashes of light, the lieutenant came around to stand behind him and gripped him by the shoulders. From the corner of his vision, he could see the maia’s red painted, perfectly manicured nails resting on his collar bones as its sharp thumbs kneaded into the back of his neck.

“Do not close your eyes,” it said. “You keep looking at yourself in that mirror, and there will be consequences if you do not.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, squirming. The maia’s hands pressed into the knotted muscles of his shoulder blades.

“Just relax,” it said. “Think of anyone and everyone you know getting to see these…”

“Stop! Please!” he yelled.

“Please?” said the Maia, stepping around to face him.

He struggled against the chains around his wrists, fought to twist himself but could only turn his hips and head against the chains. Truly, he begged:

“Please lord. Please don’t make them see. Do what you want with me, but don’t make them see it-”

“Why? Have you never given Kanafinwe a good look before?”

A sob came from his throat, as the helplessness sunk in and he stilled miserably in his chains the camera flashes continued rhythmically onwards. Forced to look at himself in the mirror, for the first time in months, the realisation of just what Mairon had done with him sunk in with complete clarity. In taking his hair, the maia had effectively castrated him, removed his sexuality, his individual identity, and the very marker of his own _species_ as easily as one guts a fish. But at the same time, the crudeness of his near-constant nudity, the horrible lurid obsession with the showing off of his genitals; it had made him nothing _but_ his sex. If his family indeed were to see these photos, they would see him both robbed of his sex and reduced to it, all at once. Both were humiliating beyond comprehension, and he could not decide which was worse.

“He keeps shaking, lord,” said the maia at the camera. “Makes his cock come out all blurry.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. I’ll hold it still,” said Sauron.

The maia grasped the top of his cock with finger and thumb, and held it tightly in place. The camera kept flashing.

There was a knock at the door; Maedhros gasped in exhausted relief as the Maia let go of him and, even if only momentarily, left him alone. But before anyone spoke, he heard the loud scraping of iron boots on stone flags, saw the looming shadow slide on the floor, and knew it was the only person in Arda he feared more than Mairon come to call.

“Am I too late for the photoshoot?” Morgoth said, gleefully, stepping into the room.

“No you’re just in time!” Mairon said happily. Morgoth sauntered into the room, and discarded his cloak.

“Good morrow, lords!” shouted the maia operating the camera. Maedhros winced in his chains as the lord of angband walked up behind him and slapped his icy, clawed hand down hard onto his bare shoulder.

“Did you get a good portrait for his brothers?” it shouted.

Mairon walked over, heeled boots clicking, then casually used Maedhros’ chained arm as a handrest to stretch up on his toes and kiss Morgoth full on the lips.

“The best!” it said, wrapping his arms around Morgoth’s neck. “I only wish I could see the pup’s face when he opens the envelope!” the lieutenant laughed, turning to look horribly at Maedhros as he did. 

"“May I make a suggestion, love?” Melkor asked Mairon.  
“Of course my lord.”  
“If we only send the pictures to his brothers they'll probably just destroy them. We should send a set to every household in the Noldorin settlement. Let every Noldor remember their precious princeling looking just like this.”

They kissed for a moment longer, then Mairon turned and said to the photographer:

“Alright, I think we’re ready for the closeups,” it said. Maedhros shuddered.

The camera maia picked up a smaller portable camera, walked forwards, and bent down to the level of Maedhros’ waist, one hand holding the camera and the other on his Maedhros’ hip.

“You said you wanted some closeups, lords?”

Mairon smiled.

“Some photos just of his genitals, yes. In high quality. A little extra surprise to put in the envelope!”

Exhaustion and shock stole the strength from Maedhros; he slumped helplessly in his chains as the cameraman held his penis at various angles, chattered about lighting and shading with the lords behind him. Once again, the camera flashes started in all their awfulness, and with Melkor and Sauron standing behind him, there was nowhere to turn his head away, nowhere he could look but down at his waist or straight ahead at the mirror. He chose the mirror, however much it hurt.

He felt the sharp poke of one of Melkor’s clawed fingers  digging into the ribs of his back.

“You spoil him, Mairon,” the vala’s voice said.”He’s meant to be punished, not doted on! He’s much too well-fed for the length of time he’s been here.”

“We were in agreement,” Mairon snapped. “You got the back half of him to use for your games, and I got his front half to keep unscarred and pretty to my liking. Arse for you, cock for me, we flipped a coin, remember?”

“Yes, but I still let you wash and shave my share of him. I should be allowed to insist my half is skinnier than this.”

“And when did you last pay any attention to your share? I’m the one who did all the work to turn him into something appropriate, do you know how many bruises and fingernail scratches he gave me? So many thankless days of being screamed at and spit on to give you what you wanted! If I had known you valued the subtleties of my craft so cheaply, I’d not have tried nearly so hard-”

“Do not test me, Mairon.”

A finger poked in between the backs of his legs.

“Look how tightly clenched those thighs are! There’s a pleasure you’d miss if he were any thinner.”

As it slapped him on the arse, Maedhros nearly screamed, fell forwards in his chains; in what could truly only count as mercy in Angband, the photographer spared him the rest of their discussion by loudly interrupting.

“All done, lords!” it said, standing back up. Then it motioned with the camera. “Would you like a portrait with both of you in it? The dog and the owners?”

Morgoth laughed.

“Or maybe the dog-catchers,” said the photographer, and both kept laughing. “Would you like to make him sit like a dog between you?”

Maedhros stilled himself as the chains around his wrists were undone. Hands, one clawed, one manicured, pressed down upon either of his shoulders. One of the lords kicked him sharply against the base of his spine as he knelt.

“Spread your legs for your brother, whore,” it said.


End file.
